


iWMiie 





(SAIL 




^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

dlinji. ©opiinBy fa* 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




SUCH LIBERTIES, SIR, ARE NOT ALLOWED ! 
STOP — KISSING —YOUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHER ! " Page iS. 



WHITE SAILS 



EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON 



33 







BOSTON 

D LOTHROP COMPANY 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 



ib'^n 



'^ ri.7- 



Copyright, i8S8, 

by 

D. LoTHROP Company, 



WHITE SAILS 



TO THE CHILDREN- 
OF THE "CLASS OF SIXTY-FIVE 
THESE VERSES 
ARE LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 



WHITE SAILS 

OFF FOR BOYLAND 

MY ANCESTORS 

THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN 

THE bishop's visit 

A CANDLEMAS STORY . 

THE CONCEITED DANDELION 

A BARGAIN . 

WEIGHING THE PRINCES 

THE LETTERS THAT W^ENT 1 

PIERRO .... 

A SMALL boy's QUESTIONS 

PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAG 

THE LADS OF LONDONDERRY 

THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE 

A minstrel's song 

WILD columbine . 
SHEPHERD AND KING . 





II 


. 


13 


. 


15 


. 


20 


. 


25 




30 


. 


34 




36 




44 


rO FRANCE. 


49 




56 




58 


rICIAN. 


62 




74 


. 


78 


. 


85 


. 


86 


. 


88 



CONTEXTS. 



AX EASTER LILY . 

THE MISSION TEA-PARTV 

ROMEO AND JULIET 

CHOOSING HIS GIFTS 

A STUDY FROM LIFE 

THE ITALIAN SHEPHERD BOY 

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN AMERICA 

OUT OF FASHION .... 

THE cricket's STORY . 

THE DUMB PRINCE 

THE DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC . 

SONG OF THE HAMMOCK 

A CHRISTMAS \\ A\¥ 

A ROMANCE FROM THE CLASSICS . 

ROB ROy's dream 

MOLLY Adam's legacy 

THE return of THE NORTHMEN . 



97 
98 
108 
112 
114 
117 
119 
123 
126 

131 
136 
138 
141 
144 
148 
152 
156 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

" Such liberties, sir, are not allowed ! 

Stop — kissing — your great-grandmother ! " . Frontis. 

The Bishop tells stories 27 

A little trading merchant 37 

A god of brass, 'neath the azure sky 41 

" Dates back to ancient Rome " 50 

'" But still my name is A ! " 53 

And Zaleski played and Potemkin listened . . . 67 

Everything in the kitchen stirred 79 

A queer little fellow 81 

Sat at the feet of the prophet gray . . .... 91 

The light of morning was in her hair 95 

Brave Havelock's peerless men ...... 99 

Blithest of all were the pipers .... ... 102 

The soldiers of Havelock are served with grace and bounty . 103 

" I saw once more the witching scene " 109 

Miss Cricket modestly sang 129 

" They stood by the famed Anaurus " 145 

" Awaken then, if ye be men " 154 



WHITE SAILS. 

PRELUDE. 

At dawn, they sailed. A daucifig, whitc-7innged fleet. 
With freight of children'' s souls, sped to the sea. 

The waves, in-coming, dipped and siniled to meet 
Glad, childish faces flushed 7i>ith hope and glee ; 

And soft winds blew, their untiicd sails to greet. 
While sea and air quivered with melody. 

No swift " God speed P' the happy voyagers lack; 

From them, a song sweeps shorezaard on the breeze ; 
And we, wJiose eyes but yesterday turned back, 

Follow the wake of zvhite-sailed argosies. 
Nor cloud, nor storm, can dim the shining track 

Across the harbor, left by ships like these. 



OFF FOR BOY-LAND. 

T TO ! All aboard ! A traveler 
^ ^ Sets sail from Baby-land ! 
Before my eyes there comes a blur, 

But still I kiss my hand, 
And try to smile as off he goes, 

My bonny, winsome boy ! 
Yes, dou voyage ! God only knows 
How much I wish thee joy. 

Oh ! tell me, have ye heard of him ? 

He wore a sailor's hat 
All silver-corded round the brim, 

And — stranger e'en than that — 
A wondrous suit of navy-blue, 

With pockets deep and wide ; 
Oh ! tell me, sailors, tell me true, 

How fares he on the tide ? 
15 



i6 OFF FOR BOY-LAND. 

We've now no baby in the house ; 

'Tvvas but this very morn 
He doffed his dainty 'broidered blouse, 

With skirts of snowy lawn, 
And shook a mass of silken curls 

From off his sunny brow ; 
They fretted him — " so like a girl's ; 

Mamma can have them now." 

He owned a bran-new pocket book. 

But that he could not find ; 
A knife and string was all he took ; 

What did he leave behind ? 
A heap of blocks with letters gay, 

And here and there a toy ; 
I cannot pick them up lo-day, 

My heart is with my boy. 

Ho ! ship ahoy ! At Boyhood's town 

Cast anchor strong and deep. 
What ! Tears upon this little gown 

Left for mamma to keep } 
Weep not, but smile ; for through the air 

A merry message rings ; — 
" Just sell it to the rag-man there ! 

I've done with baby things ! " 



MY ANCESTORS. 



A RUSTLE of stiffly wrought brocade, 
■^ *- A satin petticoat's shimmer, 
A gleam of buckles with pearl inlaid, 

Where two dainty slippers glimmer! 
A wealth of lustrous, powdered hair 

Heaped up like the white sea-foam. 
And a golden curl escaping where 

She loosened the lofty comb ! 

Be still, my heart ! Has yon fair dame, 

Adown from the panels oaken, 
Stepped silently out of her dingy frame 

At some mysterious token ? 
Ah, surely hers was the yellow lace, 

And hers was the figured dress ; 
But the face is strangely like the face 

Of our winsome little Bess. 



i8 MV ANCESTORS. 

Before the mirror she stands in the sheen 

Of her scanty silken gathers, 
And flutters her fan of gold and green 

With its fringe of peacock feathers ; 
When, suddenly, down the attic stairs, 

With a martial clang and tread, 
And the air of one who danger dares 

Or dies with the valiant dead. 

There cometh a knight with battered shield, 

And a leathern doublet musty. 
And worn by use in trench and field. 

And a broadsword old and rusty. 
But the hero stops with a measured pause ; 

Then doffing his casque in haste. 
Slips the arm that fought in the Indian wars 

Round the slender, pointed waist. 

And my lady's eyes flash quick and proud 

As she turns to her gallant brother ; 
" Such liberties, sir, are not allowed ! 

Stop — kissing — your great-grandmother ! 
But he, undaunted, serenely smiles. 

And says with a dash of scorn, 
" I .^ I came over with Captain Miles, 

And died before you were born." 



J/V ANCESTORS. 

O beauty and pride a century old, 

Your story has never an ending ! 
O valorous deeds of our fathers told, 

Through age upon age descending, 
Ye come to me over again to-day 

In the spirit the children show, 
As they play their parts in the old-time way 

With the trappings of long ago. 



THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN. 

HE lived in the Cumberland Valley, 
And his name was Jamie Brown ; 
But it changed one day, so the neighbors say, 
To the " Bravest Boy in Town." 

'Twas the time when the Southern soldiers, 

Under Early"s mad command, 
O'er the border made their dashing raid 

From the north of Maryland. 

And Chambersburg unransomed 

In smouldering ruins slept. 
While up the vale, like a fiery gale, 

The Rebel raiders swept. 

And a squad of gray-clad horsemen 
Came thundering o'er the bridge. 

Where peaceful cows in the meadows browse, 
At the feet of the great Blue Ridge. 



THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN. 

And on till they reached the village, 

That fair in the valley lay, 
Defenseless then, for its loyal men 

At the front were far away. 

" Pillage and spoil and plunder ! " 

This was the fearful word 
That the Widow Brown, in gazing down 

From her latticed window, heard. 

'Neath the boughs of the sheltering oak-tree. 

The leader bared his head 
As left and right, until out of sight, 

His dusty gray-coats sped. 

Then he called : " Halloo ! within there ! " 

A gentle, fair-haired dame 
Across the floor to the open door 

In gracious answer came. 

" Here ! stable my horse, you woman ! " — 
The soldier's tones were rude — 

" Then bestir yourself, and from yonder shelf 
Set out your store of food." 



THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN. 

For her guest she spread the table ; 

She motioned him to his place 
With a gesture proud ; then the widow bowed 

And gently — asked a grace. 

" If thine enemy hunger, feed him ! 

I obey, dear Christ ! " she said ; 
A creeping blush with its scarlet flush 

O'er the face of the soldier spread. 

He rose : " You have said it, Madam ! 

Standing within your doors 
Is the Rebel foe ; but as forth they go 

They shall trouble not you nor yours." 

Alas, for the word of the leader ! 

Alas, for the soldier's vow ! 
When the captain's men rode down the glen. 

They carried the widow's cow. 

It was then the fearless Jamie 

Sprang up with flashing eyes, 
And in spite of tears and his mother's fears, 

On the gray mare off he flies. 



THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN. 23 

Like a wild young Tarn O'Shanter, 

He plunged with piercing whoop, 
O'er field and brook till he overtook 

The straggling Rebel troop 

Laden with spoil and plunder, 

And laughing and shouting still, 
As with cattle and sheep they lazily creep 

Through the dust o'er the winding hill. 

"Oh ! the coward crowd," cried Jamie ; 

- There's Brindle ! I'll teach them now ! " 
And with headlong stride, at the captain's side. 

He called for his mother's cow. 

" Who are you, and who is your mother } — 
I promised she should not miss ? — 

Well ! upon my word have I never heard 
Of assurance like to this ! " 

'* Is your word the word of a soldier } " — 
And the young lad faced his foes, 

As a jeering laugh, in anger half 
And half in sport, arose. 



24 THE BRAVEST BOY IN TOWN. 

But the captain drew his saber, 
And spoke, with lowering brow : 

" Fall back into line ! The joke is mine ! 
Surrender the widow's cow ! " 

And a capital joke they thought it, 

That a barefoot lad of ten 
Should demand his due — and get it, too — 

In the face of forty men. 

And the rollicking Rebel raiders 

Forgot themselves somehow. 
And three cheers brave for the hero gave. 

And three for the brindle cow. 

He lived in the Cumberland Valley, 
And his name was Jamie Brown ; 

But it changed, one day, so the neighbors say, 
To the " Bravest Boy in Town." 



THE BISHOP'S VISIT. 

'' I ^ELL you about it ? Of course I will ! 

■'- I thought 'twould be dreadful to have him 
come, 
For mamma said / must be quiet and still, 

And she put away my whistle and drum — 

And made me unharness the parlor chairs, 
And packed my cannon and all the rest 

Of my noisiest playthings off up-stairs, 

On account of this very distinguished guest. 

Then every room was turned upside down, 
And all the carpets hung out to blow ; 

For when the Bishop is coming to town 
The house must be in order, you know. 

So out in the kitchen I made my lair. 

And started a game of hide-and-seek ; 
But Bridget refused to have me there. 

For the Bishop was coming — to stay a week — 
25 



26 THE BISHOPS VISIT. 

And she must make cookies and cake and pies 
And fill every closet and platter and pan, 

Till I thought this Bishop, so great and wise. 
Must be an awfully hungry man. 

Well ! at last he came ; and I do declare, 
Dear grandpapa, he looked just like you. 

With his gentle voice, and his silvery hair, 
And eyes with a smile a-shining through. 

And whenever he read or talked or prayed, 
I understood every single word ; 

And I wasn't the leastest bit afraid. 
Though I never once spoke or stirred ; 

Till, all of a sudden, he laughed right out 
To see me sit quietly listening so ; 

And began to tell us stories about 
Some queer little fellows in Mexico. 

And all about Egypt and Spain — and then 
He wasnt disturbed by a little noise. 

But said that the greatest and best of men 
Once were rollicking, healthy boys. 



THE BISHOP'S VISIT. 29 

And he thinks it is no matter at all 

If a little boy runs and jumps and climbs ; 

And mamma should be willing to let me crawl 
Through the banister-rails in the hall sometimes. 

And Bridget, sir, made a great mistake 
In stirring up such a bother, you see. 

For the Bishop — he didn't care for cake, 
And really liked to play games with me. 

But though he's so honored in word and act — 
(Stoop down, for this is a secret now) - — 

He coiildiit spell Boston ! That's a fact ! 
But whispered to me to tell him how. 



A CANDLEMAS STORY. 

SIT closer, my lad, to thy mother's knee ; 
'Tis Candlemas-night and the winds blow cold 
The storm-king sweeps from the northern sea. 
And the snows fall deep and silently 
Over the waste and wold. 

Heap up the coals in the glowing grate ; 
Like fire-lit jewels they flash and shine ; 
'Tis a night when tales for the telling wait, 
And the hours grow neither long nor late, 
As thy young eyes drink from mine. 

And so I will tell you a Candlemas tale, 
Born of those marvelous days of yore. 
When every breath of the northern gale 
Wafted the terrible Northman's sail 
Down to the English shore. 
30 



A CANDLEMAS STORY. 31 

And King Canute had come to reign 
O'er English lands through the conqueror's might ; 
But had sworn, by the oath of the awful Dane, 
Justly to rule o'er jarl and thane 

And Saxon churl and wight. 

And he banished the heathen gods, 'tis said. 
From every shrine where their rites were told ; 
And worshiped the one true God instead, 
Placing his crown on the hallowed head 
Of our Lord in the minster old. * 

And many a year, at Candlemas time, 
He went to carry the priest's good cheer ; 
Pleased in his heart with the Saxon chime, 
" As merrily sang " — so goes the rhyme — 

" The monks when the king rowed near." 

The monks of Ely, who yearly kept 
The Candlemas feast in the olden way ; 
But once, it chanced that the Ice-king swept 
Ahead of the great Canute, and crept 

Where the fens of the Abbey lay. 

» Henry of Huntingdon in recording the familiar incident of King Canute and the 
sea, in which the waves refused to obey the royal mandate, also states that " from 
that day would not King Canute wear his crown, but he put it on the head of the 
image of our Lord in the old Minster at Winchester." 



32 



A CANDLEMAS STORY 



With his chilling breath the shore he rims ; 
At his touch, the vast fen-waters froze ; 
And the Ice-king laughs as on he skims 
Where the monks of Ely sing their hymns, 
In the Abbey's sheltered close. 

O'er the frozen lake no boat can pass ; 
And the great King chafes — for who shall dare 
To trust his foot to the treacherous mass — 
As blue as steel but as frail as glass — 

To join with the monks in prayer ? 

Up leaped the brave churl Brihtmaer then ! 
A giant he stood among the Danes ; — 
"What ho ! are ye sons of Norseland men. 
Yet faint on the verge of a frozen fen, 
O valiant earls and thanes ! 

"Behold ! if the ice bear Brihtmaer's weight," 
And the strong man sprang to the glittering plain, 
" Then surely the King Canute the Great, 
With never a fear may dare his fate — 
He and his knightly train ! " 

And across the lake in his sinewy speed. 

He strode, while the Northmen gazed in scorn ; 



A CANDLEMAS STORY. ZZ 

But the King, who was great in name and deed, 
Though small in stature, gave good heed 

To the words of the wight low-born. 

From their place, at the water's ice-rimmed edge, 
He motioned his lords with a haughty frown ; 
And the great Canute in his royal sledge 
Was safely drawn o'er marsh and sedge, 
To the old cathedral town. 

Then the shouts that rose were long and loud, 
And only hushed by the clash of spears, 
As the brave churl Brihtmaer lowly bowed 
At the feet of the King — his triumph proud 
Forgotten amidst his fears. 

But the great King cried : — " Stout heart, thy name ! 
Thou and thy children's sons for aye 
The Saxon freeman's rights shall claim. 
With wealth and honors and loyal fame 
For that thou hast done this day." 

And to-night, as the Candlemas winds blow cold. 
We fancy we hear the old monks sing ; 
Whilst we read again from the legends old. 
How the brave King loved his vassal bold. 
And how Brihtmaer loved his King. 



THE CONCEITED DANDELION, 



A LOFT upon his graceful stem, 
-^^^^ The dandeHon swung ; 
Oh ! brave was he and fair to see 

The G:arden flowers among. 



The violet trembled at his feet ; 

The valley-lilies hushed 
Tne tinkle of their tiny bells ; 

The clover fairly blushed. 

He noticed not these simple folk, 

But stood erect and high, 
And cried, " On all the great, green earth 

There's none so fine as I ! 

"The buttercup's an upstart bold ! 

King's cup — the saucy elf ! 
I've heard Sir Graybeard tell of stars — 

I am a star myself ! " 
34 



THE CONCEITED DANDELION. 35 

And so throughout the sweet spring clay, 

He of the golden crown 
Nodded and shone and thought himself 

The glory of the town. 

But when the starlit midnight came, 

Sir Gray beard roughly shook 
His youthful friend and cried, " Wake up ! 

Wake up and take a look ! " 

F'ull long the dandelion gazed 

At God's own stars — and then 
Shrank close within his hood of green 

And never smiled again. 

His head grew bald ; his locks of white 

Flew on the winds afar ; 
He sobbed, "I've lived just long enough 

To find I'm not a star." 



A BARGAIN. 

A TOW who is this that cometh to call ? 
^ ^ A traveling merchant ? Ah ! of all 
The curious ways — and ways are many 
In which to turn an honest penny — 
This is the queerest that e'er befell : 
" Old iron and lead and brass to sell ! " 

And standing here in the morning light, 
All tattered and grimy — a sorrier sight 
Than his mother ever has seen before, 
Is the merchant-man at the parlor door. 
His hands are black ; and a sooty face 
To his bearing adds a doubtful grace ; 
But his voice is eager, his brown eyes dance, 
He spreads his wares with a merry glance. 
And his cry, as true as I live to tell, 
Is this — " Old iron and brass to sell ! " 

Here are ancient kettles, and prisms of glass 

From a broken lamp, and its stand of brass ; 

36 




A LITTLE TKADliNG MERCHANT. 



A BARGAIN. 39 

A section of pipe and a poker too 

Which, mended, might be as good as new ; 

Here are horseshoes rusty ; and bronzes queer — 

The fragments of some old chandelier. 

Here are rings for a curtain and broken rods, — 

Familiar they seem as household gods ! 

And the headless nails and screws that clink 

With bolts and hinges — they make me think 

Of something — I've, somewhere, read or heard — 

" A story ? " And at the magic word, 

Down sits the merchant upon the spot. 

His motley wares and his trade forgot. 

But I only had it in mind to say 
That once on a time, one far-off day, 
A people, freed from some dreadful fate, 
Built to their god a statue great. 
An island people they were, and so 
Where the blue sea-waters come and go, 
They raised their mighty Colossus high, 
A god of brass, 'neath the azure sky. 

All the wealth of Rhodes, her skill, her power, 
Were lavished this sculptured form to dower ; 
Its eyes were of fire and lit the seas 
For a hundred of lesser divinities ; 



40 A BARGAIN. 

But the earth-born slave who fed the flame, 
From within, up a winding stairway came. 

For half a century, aye ! and more. 

The statue stood on the famous shore ; 

Then the story tells how an earthquake shock 

Dashed the god of brass from its base of rock. 

It fell, this wonder of ancient art ! — 

You think, 'twas because of its hollow heart >. 

By the harbor blue the fragments lay, 
While the slow-timed centuries rolled away ; 
Till one bright morning a keen-eyed Jew, 
A traveling pedler — ah, yes, like you ! — 
In search of a bargain chanced to pass, 
And bought the whole for old iron and brass. 

A Saracen Caliph the treasure sold, 

Who laughed as he jingled the pedler's gold. 

Alas! the mighty are fallen, indeed, 

When gods are bartered for gain and greed ; 

When the world's Seventh Wonder bound in a pack 

To oblivion rides on a donkey's back ! 

It made a great many most cumbersome load: 

This fallen Colossus of ancient Rhodes. 



Is 




A GOD OF BRASS, NEATH THE AZUKE SKY." 



A BARGAIN. 43 

No, " all the king's oxen and all the king's men " 
Couldn't put the great statue together again. 
And whither the pieces went, doth not appear — 
You are sure you have none in your basket here ? 
I would pay the last penny I have to command, 
For a bit of the statue from Chares's hand. 

You've nothing to sell ? You'll give me the whole? 

O pedler of pedlers, with generous soul ! 

I've told you a story ? You think it but fair 

To leave the collection and call it square .'' 

Well, a bargain's a bargain ! and mildew and rust. 

And odds and ends, broken to fragments and dust, 

Are a currency fitting, most truly, to pass 

In exchange for a tale of old iron and brass. 



WEIGHING THE PRINCES. 

T3 IXG, all ye bells, from London-town 
-'-^ To Windsor's sward of green ! 
The brother of King Henry wins 
The sister of the Queen ! 

" Harp, all ye harpers, through the hall ! 

Ye merry minstrels, sing ! 
To-day, the Queen's own sister weds 

The brother of the King ! 

" So doubly royal be the rout ! 

And gaily through the land, 
From west to east proclaim the feast ! " 

This was the King's command. 

"To Cornwall's lord, far-off Provence 

Hath sent her fairest maid ; 
So dance we all in Windsor's hall 

And down the forest glade ! " 



WEIGHING THE PRINCES. 45 

" Bring rushes clean ! bring trailing vines ! " 

This was the Queen's sweet will ; 
" Bestrew the floors, bedeck the doors, 

The earthen pitchers fill ! 

" And where the lords and ladies dance, 

To dulcimer and drum, 
Early or late, throw wide each gate, 

And bid the children come ! " 

Two royal English boys looked on, 
And watched the pageant bright ; 

Their merry eyes, at each surprise. 
Danced with a new delight. 

They saw the wild boar and the deer 

In Windsor's forests fall ; 
The flocks and kine, great beeves and swine 

Slain at the castle wall. 

Great trees were felled and fires were built 

With boughs of crackling thorn ; 
Each water-trough, from streams far-uff. 

Stood flowing night and morn. 



46 WEIGHING THE PRINCES. 

Huge iron kettles boiling hung ; 

Deep ovens baked beside ; 
While great roasts burn, or cool in turn, 

Upon the hearthstone wide. 

The solemn cooks passed to and fro 

Majestic in their place ; 
The kitchen lass, in plates of brass, 

Smiled at her own sweet face. 

Hither and yon the servants sped. 
Each bustling maid and man ! 

With fun and feud, they baked and brewed, 
And polished pot and pan. 

They heaped the wooden trenchers high ; 

The leathern jugs o'erflow ; 
The bride's own cup, they filled up 

With white wine from Bordeaux. 

And thus they spread the royal board, 

With lavish hands, they say ; 
And thirty thousand dishes graced 

The wedding feast, that day. 

" Now open all the castle gates ! " 
King Henry gaily cried, 



WEIGHING THE PRINCES. 47 

" For there be more at. every door 
To wait to greet the bride ! " 

And maddest was the merry rout, 

And noisiest the din, 
When midst the sport, to Windsor's court, 

They brought the children in. 

All from the streets of Windsor-town, 

From King's highway and lane, 
From crowded lot or lonely cot, 

They called the motley train. 

The steward scowled, the scullions stared 

To hear the King's behest ; 
But royalty served graciously 

Each hungry beggar guest. 

" Now, bring the scales ! " King Henry said ; 

" Come here, my sons ! " quoth he ; 
" Against your weight, I stake the fate — 

Whatever it may be — 

" Of silver shillings, pence or pounds ! " 

The jingling pieces fell ; 
Each royal boy brimful of joy 

Weighed down the balance well ; 



48 WEIGHING THE PRINCES. 

Till, ounce on ounce, and pound on pound, 

The coin as weighty grew ; 
How many pence were taken thence, 

The courtiers never knew ; 



For two lads flung them right and left, 

And every needy guest, 
Each boy and girl, good wife and churl, 

In blue or russet drest, 

Found, for a largess, silver bits 

Upon the regal earth ; ' 
With King's own face and sign of grace 

On every penny's worth. 

And when these royal lads were men, 
And one was England's king, 

How they were weighed in castle-glade, 
The minstrels loved to sing. 

And when the wedding bells rang out 

For Edward and his queen, 
Those gifts of old a hundredfold 

Came back to Windsor green. 



THE LETTERS THAT WENT 
TO FRANCE. 

FIVE handsome Yankee lads one day 
Set sail for sunny France ; 
Fair foreign cousins each had they, 

And fortunes too, perchance. 
Beneath that far-off azure sky, 
Across the waters blue ; — 
Their names were A and E and I, 
And O and youthful U. 

Dame Alphabet stood on the strand. 

To bid her sons farewell ; 
" Remember 'tis a lettered land," 

She said ; " and proudly tell 
All kith and kin where'er they be 

Across the flashing foam. 
That our illustrious ancestry 

Dates back to ancient Rome." 
49 



50 THE LETTERS THAT WENT TO FRANCE. 



And thus it chanced in blithesome mood, 

And feeling quite at home, 
Our five young friends in Paris stood, 

Within the Place Vendome ; 




DATES BACK TO ANCIENT ROME. 



When all at once the agile A 

Espied another elf, 
So like to him in every way 

It might have been himself 



THE LETTERS THAT WENT TO FRANCE. 5 

And darting like a ray of light, 

He ran with breathless haste, 
And clasped that fair Parisian sprite 

Around its airy waist. 
" Dear Cousin A, accept," he said, 

" This greeting from mamma ! " 
" A ? " and the other tossed its head — 

" Good sir, my name is Ah ! " 

Poor A amazed and angry too, 

Fell back in sudden shame ; 
What would his august mother do, 

That proud New England dame ! 
He turned to E ; in time to hear 

Another Frenchman say, 
" Excuse me, friend, 'tis very queer, 

But still my name is A ! " 

" E ! I insist ! " cried eager E ; 

" Why thus pervert the truth ? " 
And in this dire perplexity, 

A tall and slender youth. 
Straight as an arrow speeding by, 

Stopped short the sport to see ; 
When on his neck fell watchful I, 

And lo ! his name was E. 



52 THE LETTERS THAT WENT TO TRANCE, 

Just then, unnoticed until now, 

U, sauntering up the street. 
Saluted with a graceful bow 

His counterpart complete. 
" Pardon ! but may I ask your name? 

I pray thee tell it true ! " 
With twist and quirk the answer came ; 

It really was not U ! 

They call for O in hot surprise ; 

They seek him far and near ; 
When unto their bewildered eyes, 

Two circling forms appear. 
Each crying as they onward run, 

" I cannot let you go ! 
I am — you are — a long lost son ! 

O, O — O, O — O, Oh !" 

But great A, calling all his clan, 

Declared with awful frown, 
He'd take them, every mother's man, 

Straight home to Boston Town ! 
O should not stay, nor I nor E, 

And certainly not U ! 
So straight they sailed as straight could be. 

Once more acrocs the blue. 







»ili 



i r 



"but still my name is a!" 



THE LETTERS THAT WENT TO FRANCE. 55 

And what said good Dame Alphabet ? 

Indeed, what could she say, 
But bid her children not forget 

The lesson learned that day. 
Yet she for one was glad to know 

Where this strange race is found, 
That O, at least, is honest O, 

Old-fashioned, full and round. 



PIERRO. 

PIERRO is a bird with a yellow breast, 
And plumage soft as the whitest down ; 
And all through the day, with a strange unrest, 
He swings in his cage of rustic brown ; 
Swings to and fro on his willow ring, 
And chirps a little, but will not sing. 

Our pet canary — sweet-voiced Pierro ! 

We coax him in vain through the sunny day. 
With all the songs that the home-birds know ; 
But he, in a tender, sorrowful way. 

Pecks at the dainties we fondly bring, 
And chirps a little, yet will not sing. 

l^ut when at evening the gas-light shines, 

And the fire-flames laugh in the glowing grate. 
When shadows frolic among the vines. 
There comes to Pierro an ideal mate — 
A shadow-bird upon dusky wing ! 
'Tis then we learn that Pierro can sing. 
56 



PIERRO. 57 

With a witching melody, sweet and low, 
In wistful fondness, he seems to say, 
" Do you know me, beloved ? 'Tis I, Pierro ! " 
And the shadow-bird nods, in Pierro's own way. 
Then the ravishing carols exultant fall 
For the stranger-guest on the silent wall. 

Ah, happy singer, we cannot chide ; 
Poesy's crown unto thee belongs ! 
There are many who sing, in the gay noon-tide. 
To an eager crowd ; but I deem that songs, 
Sweeter than ever the world has heard, 
Are sung, in some hearts, to a shadow-bird. 



A SMALL BOY'S QUESTIONS. 

IV T" AIM MA, sit down ! I want to ask 
"^ ' You just one thing or two : 
What makes my shadow stretch out so ? 
And tell me, what is dew ? 

Is it the trees that make the wind 
By switching round their boughs ? 

And where do dogs go when they die, 
And kitty-cats and cows ? 

And when it thunders in the sky 
What makes the clouds all wink ? 

Could I dig down to China-land 
In ten years, do you think? 

Why don't the people tumble off 

When China turns this way ? 
And when you say the moon is full, 

What is it full of, pray ? 
58 



A SMALL BOY'S QUESTIONS. 59 

How far is it up to the clouds ? 

How long are comets' tails ? 
And why will not umbrellas do 

For boats as well as sails ? 



How did the very firstest man, 
Who made tape-measures, know 

How long to make the first end inch ? 
And say, do yard-sticks grow ? 

How many workmen did it take 

To build a pyramid ? 
And won't you show me on the map 

Where Baby Moses hid ? 

What makes the little darkies black .'' 
What makes the sky so blue ? 

And is it right to tell a joke 
W^hen not one word is true ? 

Why do you love me just the same 
When I am cross and bad ? 

And tell me, mamma, why am I 
The only boy you had ? 



6o A SMALL BOY'S QUESTIONS. 

And will you be the grandmother 

To all my little boys ? 
And when you come to see us bring 

Your pockets full of toys ? 

Is Santa Claus a truly man ? 

Have reindeer hoofs or paws ? 
Who dresses all the Christmas dolls — 

Does Mrs. Santa Claus ? 



Is Jesus real, mamma dear ? 

Were frankincense and myrrh 
His Christmas gifts ? Did Mary think 

Those things were meant for her — 

Or did she keep them safe for him ? 

Why don't the Bible tell ? 
Was God ever a little boy — 

He knows our hearts so well ? 

What makes volcanoes smoke and blaze ? 

Who built their fires then, 
If all the earth was finished off 

Before God made the men ? 



A SMALL BOY'S QUESTLONS. 6i 

Where is our fire when it goes out ? 

Why can't I understand ? 
Well, won't you tell me where to find 

Some undiscovered land ? 

If God could make this whole great earth 

With only six days' stir, 
Why need we be so awful long 

In fixing Jupiter — 

And putting air and water there, 

And grass and trees and fiowers, 
To make it comfortable for folks 

Just like this world of ours ? 

How can God hollow out the hills 

Without a single tool ? 
You don't know everything ? • Well, then, 

Why don't you go to school ? 



PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 

{A Kiissian Wotider-Story.) 

IN the witching days of the long ago, 
In that wondrous realm, whose fields of snow 
Southward stretch to a sunnier land 
Of sea-washed shores and desert strand. 
And west and east o'er the mountains — well, 
Farther and wider than one can tell — 
There stood on the banks of a river blue. 
The city of Kherson, grand and new. 

Here, on the steps of a palace fine, 
Gazing out where the water's line 
Through the stately harbor spreading free, 
Meets the surge of the shining sea, 
A slender lad with sorrowful eyes 
Crouched in the light of the western skies. 

Over his shoulders loosely hung 
A scarlet cloak whose tatters swung 
62 



PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 63 

In the breeze ; while hidden its folds within, 
And tenderly clasped, was a violin. 

But the lad sprang up with a guilty start 

Which checked the blood in his boyish heart, 

As footsteps rang on the marble floor, 

And a sharp voice called through the open door : 

" Ho ! Zaleski ! What, yawning still, 

In the sunshine here on the window-sill ? 

I'll wager my daggers are thick with rust. 

Boots and saddle inch-deep with dust, 

Horses unfed or fed but half " — 

Here the master uttered a mocking laugh, 

As he added, " Get out of this nook, you elf ! 

I'll lounge awhile in the sun myself ! " 

Zaleski hastily stepped aside. 

His eyes in amazement open wide ; 

While his master, handsome and gay and proud, 

Mused, half to himself and half aloud, 

As people in stories are wont to do : 

" Poor dolt ! I even could pity you. 

Waif of the streets whom a dog would spurn ! 

But are we not each of us slaves in turn ? 

I'm Bauer, Potemkin's courier; he 

The princely pet of Her Majesty, 

The PLmpress Catharine. Him, we're told, 

She feeds with gems from a" spoon of gold, 



64 PRIXCE POTEAIKIN THE MAGICIAN. 

While he at the tip of his mighty sword, 

Hands back the lands of some conquered lord. 

Anon, his mightiness nods and glances : 

I peril my neck to feed his fancies. 

For days and days, like an insane man, 

O'er the deserts I ride to Astrakhan. 

For what t A melon ! Important, very ! 

Or else my lord doth choose a cherry, 

And away to Cerasus, early or late, 

I speed to fill Potemkin's plate. 

To-day, perchance, I am ordered off 

To the royal gates at Peterhof ; 

To-morrow all the realms of a Czar 

Too poor and mean and barbarous are 

To furnish aught to the Prince's taste, 

And lo ! to Paris or Rome I haste 

For some new trinket to please his soul ! 

— Come hither! O abject son of a Pole, 

Reared at the end of a Russian knout ! 

What were you dreaming just now about .-*" 

The Polish page turned sick with fright ; 

His dark eyes glistened, his lips were white ; 

His fingers trembled, his knees grew weak ; 

He must obey ; yet he dared not speak. 

" I was — was — wishing " — at last he said ; 

" I was wishing — first — that I were dead ! 



PRINCE FOTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 65 

Then I dreamed" — here his head began to spin — 
'* That the great Czarina Catharine, 
Somewhere, somehow, some happy day, 
Had smiled to hear Zaleski play." 

" Play what ? A violin ! ha ! that's rich ! 

* Signior Zaleski Alexeyevitch, 

Musician at court ! ' Well, I advise 

That you ask the wizard, the wondrous-wise 

Enchanter Potemkin ; he alone 

Can give you a hearing next the throne. 

' Is he a wizard 1 ' Look ye around ! 

Here's Kherson the Splendid, sprung from the 

ground, 
Wharves and houses and square and street, 
Just at the stamp of his mighty feet. 
He winks ; the tree-top turns to a steeple, 
And baldheaded mushrooms change to people, 
Fierce wolves and bears into stupid sheep. 
Desert lands into gardens deep — 
Oh ! he is the master of mysteries dim ! 
' Musician at court ! ' Ha, ha ! Ask him ! " 

And just at that moment the bustle and hum 
Of the court-yard ceased ; and who should come 



66 PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 

Through the open square, but the mighty Prince, 

Greater than any before or since 

In the Empress' realms ; and in sudden fear 

The courier muttered : " Soft ! I'm not here ! 

I'm off to Warsaw — to Novgorod ! " 

While poor Zaleski fell on the sod 

And gasped to the Prince : " Oh ! art thou, then. 

The wisest of all the wizard-men, 

Who winks a tree-top into a steeple, 

And baldheaded mushrooms into people ? " 

The guards would have crushed him where they 

stood, 
Rut Potemkin, stirred by a gracious mood. 
Cried : " Let him alone ! Get up, I say ! 
Who told you I was a wizard, pray ? " 
" My master, Bauer ; he said that you 
All the secrets of magic knew. 
That you were his master ; and you alone 
Could give me a hearing next the throne — 
Me — poor Zaleski — a place to play 
At the PZmpress' feet, some happy day." 

" Where is your master — the reckless youth ! " 
The Prince replied. " He has told the truth 



PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 69 

For once, be it said, if never again. • 
I can turn mushrooms, or toads, to men ; 
Build towns and villages, many a one, 
Out of nothing but sand and sun. 
Shaming the conjurer's arts to shade; 
But boy-musicians are born, not made ! 
Still music we need I Let me hear you play 
As though for your life, this very day ! " 

And Zaleski played. His violin 

From his babyhood, his friend had been. 

Of written music he knew no note. 

But the trills that die in the song-bird's throat; 

The voice of the winds and the waves astir, 

The breath of the morn, his masters were ; 

While floating dreamily through his veins 

Were all those weird entrancing strains 

That never were written, yet have a place 

In the deathless melodies of his race. 

And Potemkin, listening, quite forgot 
Himself and his suite, the time, the spot, 
Till, roused by the murmur of voices gruff, 
He raised a finger and cried, " Enough ! 
The daylight wanes and the hour grows late ; 
Put the boy in trim for the Empress' fete ! " 



70 



-KINCE rOTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 



Then to the lad, as with sudden thought : 
"Tell your master, Bauer, from me, he ought 
To save his wisdom for baldhead sages ; 
Henceforth he can have mushrooms for pages ! " 

Oh ! then began the marvelous days. 
When the streets of Kherson were all ablaze 
With the swiftly-spreading and wild report, 
That the regal Head of the Russian court — 
With double-eagle and golden ball. 
Crown and sceptre and throne and all — 
Who had traveled far and had traveled wide. 
Was coming to visit " Potemkin's Pride " — 
The province the Prince had sworn should be 
" Catharine's Glory," beside the sea. 

In Kherson city was bustle and din, 
As men marched out and men marched in ; 
Hither and yon were messengers sent 
For banners and ships and armament. 
Lofty dwellings with dome and tower 
Rose, as it were, in a single hour ; 
Shining palace and square and mart, 
Built and peopled with wondrous art ; 
Crowded market and gay bazaar 
Furnished with luxuries from afar : 



PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 71 

Costly wares from west and east, 

Fruit and grain for a nation's feast ; 

Ores that darken and gems that shine, 

Hemp and honey and wax and wine, 

Brought with speedy and lavish hands. 

At the Prince's word, from a hundred lands. 

And the boy Zaleski — where was he ? 

At the feet of her gracious majesty ; 

The past forgotten, the future fair, 

With music and mirth and never a care 

He sailed from Krementshuk down the stream 

To Kherson's gates, in a golden dream ; 

For the Russian Queen, each happy day, 

Had smiled to hear Zaleski play. 



And still on the lad's bewildered view 
The wonder of wonders grew and grew. 
On distant plains where, the sages say. 
The sands of countless centuries lay, 
Turrets and towers arose mid air, 
Telling of city and castle fair ; 
Where the river-beds of old were dry 
Through far canals the ships sailed by ; 
Gardens were blooming and fountains ran 
In the track of the eastern caravan ; 



72 PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 

Where once the merciless Cossack rode 

Were herds of cattle and man's abode ; 

Camp-fires illumined the plains afar, 

Each mountain blazed with a burning star ; 

The sheep had driven the wolves to flight ; 

There was song by day and dance by night ; 

While children flocked to the river's side 

To watch the Empress' galley glide, 

With scarlet awning and gilded oar, 

Down to the Black Sea's mystic shore ; 

And never was grander triumph seen, 

In days of Caesar, or ancient queen, 

Than the Wonder-Prince, with his magic art. 

Conjured out of the desert's heart, 

When Catharine journeyed into the south, 

Through Kherson's gates, to the Dnieper's mouth. 

" Bjit hozu did he do it ? " — Sir Truthful Eyes — 

" ITas he a wizard all zvonder-wise ? " 

Ah ! in wonder-stories, I thought that now 

We never asked for the why and how. 

" But I said it was true ? " Then I must own 

What the great Czarina upon her throne 

Seems never once to have guessed or known — 

That the distant cities with turrets tall, 

Were a hollow sham and an empty wall ; 



PRINCE POTEMKIN THE MAGICIAN. 73 

That each ship in the yellow sand stood fast, 

A part of the same illusion vast ; 

That gardens bloomed on the barren plains 

Only with infinite toil and pains ; 

That the peaceful homes beside the way 

All disappeared in a single day ; 

And the stars that lighted the shining track 

Died out when the Empress turned her back ; 

The happy peasants and children bright 

Who danced by day, moved on by night 

With the patient sheep and the cattle slow, 

Like a modern, mammoth traveling-show ; 

And millions of silver rubles white 

Were spent on this vision of brief delight 

By the Prince — great Catharine's praise to win. 

And the marvel is that it could have been. 



THE LADS OF LONDONDERRY. 

AV ! this is the river of Irish song, 
And this the line of the ancient ferry 
Where King James' host, twelve thousand strong. 
Marched down to capture Londonderry. 

On the hill the great cathedral stood. 
As it stands to-day in the glinting sun, 

And the city's walls were staunch and good 
Whose bastions gleamed with pike and gun. 

Wild hordes, with bristling front and flank. 
Of old had stormed the town in vain ; 

But the soul of every soldier sank 

When the foemen marched from Coleraine. 

For here in the heart of the Irish land 
The English cause had staked its life ; 

There was siege and slaughter on every hand : 
The air with awful tales was rife. 



THE LADS OF LONDONDERRY. 75 

And the troops of William rallying late, 

Tardily sailed, relief to bear ; 
While Londonderry could only wait, 

With a feeble hope almost despair. 

'« Ah ! woe betides us ! " the women said ; 

Whilst men in terror swayed to and fro, 
And children questioned with awful dread. 

That day two hundred years ago. 

And hardest of all, the Bishop rose 

And preached once more in the holy place ; 

His head had whitened with honored snows. 
His life was full of gifts and grace. 

But he said, " O, people perverse, yet mine. 
Heed ere your hearts are for aye unfit ! 

Our sovereigns rule by the right divine ; 
King James is king ! Ye must submit ! " 

And near and yet nearer the army came. 
Blazing its way with fire and sword, 

Till the hearts of the people were all aflame, 
Echoing still with the Bishop's word : 



76 THE LADS OF LONDONDERRY. 

" Better to go like a chastened flock 

To the slaughter in God's appointed way, 

Than the Lord's anointed thus to mock — 
King James is king ! Ye must obey ! " 

" Never ! " a clear young voice rang out ; 

" The right divine is the people's own ! " 
And a dozen lads took up the shout — 

"The Prince of Orange for England's throne! 

That very moment the summons came 
At the city's gate with a sudden shock ; 

" Surrender ! " they cry, " in the royal name ! " 
As loud at the ferry the soldiers knock 

Then started the lads — the brave thirteen ! 

They wrest the keys from their secret place ; 
Of murderous weapons they catch the sheen 

As they shut the gate in the foemen's face. 



Then a dash to the walls ! "This way ! this way ! 

Bring the heaviest gun ! Deal out the shot ! " 
In vain did the Bishop expound and pray ; 

They heard, but heeded the sermon not. 



THE LADS OF LONDONDERRY. 77 

Their young hearts fired the dormant town ; 

Wider and higher the war-cry flew ; 
The stores were opened, the gates fast down, 

And, panic-stricken, the foe withdrew. 

In haste retreating across the Foyle, 

They changed their minds — so the annals tell ; 
There was fire to face, ere the hand could spoil ; 

And fear on the grim besiegers fell. 

Still from the city, " Defiance ! " Then 
If ever were blithesome lads and merry, 

'Twas they who shouted when King James' men 
Marched up and away from Londonderry ! 



THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE. 

[Bridget's stoiiy retold by rob.] 

IT was just before Lent ; and Auntie and all 
The young folks had gone to the Carnival ball ; 
And Auntie was Mary, Queen o' the Scots — 
Wore a train of blue velvet and lots and lots 
Of pearls and diamonds set in her hair, 
On the bows of her slippers and everywhere ; 
And tall cousin Richard took sweet sister Belle ; 
She was "fair Lady Stella," he "Astrophel," 
As Sir Philip Sidney was called sometimes 
From a book he had written all filled with rhymes — 
Belle told me about it, and hoped I would be 
Some day as good and as great as he ; 
But whether she meant our big cousin Rich 
Or brave Sir PhiHp — I'm not sure which. 

Well ! papa and mamma stepped out in the hall 
To meet some people coming to call, 
78 



THE KITCHEN MASQLERADE. 



79 



And Bridget she hustled me off up-stairs, 

And bade me undress and remember my prayers, 




EVERYTHING IN THE KITCHEN STIRRED. 



Then hurried out quick and shut tight the door 
For fear that the company'd hear me roar. 
I had to cry some — just a minute or so — 
To soften her dear old heart, you know. 



8o THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE. 

Pretty soon she came back — I knew that she would — 

And said if I'd be very quiet and good, 

She would tell me what happened one night when 

she 
Went down-stairs after some ginger tea. 
It was when she lived with Mrs. Van Hall, 
And the folks had all gone to a fancy-dress ball, 
Decked out in velvet and powder and laces, 
With white silk masks to cover their faces, 
Like Auntie and Rich and my own sister Belle ; 
But whoever they were, 'twasn't she that could tell. 
However, they went ; and at quarter past ten 
Bridget crept off to bed and to sleep ; and then 
When the clock struck twelve, she woke with a 

sneeze. 
And lay in a shiver expecting to freeze. 
Till all at once she happened to think 
She'd better have something hot to drink. 
And so, as I told you, she started down-stairs — 
Our kitchen is built in the ell, but theirs 
Was made in the basement down two flights. 
And the house was empty, and all the lights 
In the hall were out, and — what do you think } 
As she opened the door the least little chink, 
It seemed as though somebody gave the word, 
And everything in that kitchen stirred ! 



THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE. 



8i 



Poor Bridget stood as though glued to the floor, 
When out stepped a queer httle fellow who wore 
A mask of pie-crust with slits for the eyes, 
And a smile of the most enormous size, 




A QUEER LITTLE FELLOW. 



And he whispered, "I'm only the rolling-pin ! 
Dear Missis Bridget, do walk right in ! " 



82 THE KITCHEX MASQUERADE. 

" Yer who ? " says Bridget. " Oho ! indade ? 
Yer havhig a bit of a masquerade ! " 



With that, the circle whirled round the room, 

And the tall floor manager, Mr. Broom, 

Delighted to form such a beautiful ring, 

Stood fanning himself with a turkey-wing, 

While his aged grandmother clung to his side. 

Her head in a calico duster tied. 

Then the wet floor-mop with its draggled train 

Switched by Bridget and off again ; 

The coffee-pot marched in a stately way. 

Arm in arm, with the dinner-tray, 

While Mr. Tongs, with his shiny face, 

And his black legs wrapped in a pillow-case, 

Escorted the shovel, charmingly drest 

In Bridget's own night-cap — her very best \ 



In stalked the clothes-horse, and there astrid( 
The sdver forks rode side by side 
With the kitchen folks ; and on each rail. 
Hung and clattered in pan and pail, 
Spoons, ladles, and knives, and everything, 
That wasn't able to stride or clins. 



THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE. 83 

The tea-kettle whistled a " Pinafore" tune ; 
Quadrilles were drummed with pan and spoon ; 
The stove-poker, dressed in a funny rig, 
On the new clothes-wringer turned a jig ; 
And the merriest music that ever was played 
Rang out at the kitchen masquerade. 



How they bobbed and perked and pranced ! 
How they smiled and smirked and danced ! 
Platters and pans and saucers whirled ; 
Covers and pie-plates rolled and twirled ; 
The mortar and pestle joined the din ; 
The pie-fork waltzed with the rolling-pin ; 
The spider rode on the coal-hod's back ; 
The pump grew frolicsome ; but alack ! 
From the end of the sink he couldn't stir, 
And so in the midst of the noise and whir, 
He waved his one arm up and down. 
The angriest pump in all the town. 



She would have told me a good deal more. 
But just at that moment the chamber door 
Gave a little creak as it swung ajar, 
And there on the threshold stood mamma : 



84 THE KITCHEN MASQUERADE. 

And Bridget, sitting beside the bed, 

Just threw her apron over her head, 

And gasped, "Sure, mum, 'twas a smutty place 

I found, meself, on the pillow-case!" 

But mamma perplexed stood looking down 

With something between a smile and a frown. 

And we never knew what she thought of the tale. 

For she only said, " O, Bridget McPhaile ! " 



A MINSTREL'S SONG. 

"^ I ^O the Danish camp a minstrel came, 

^ A boyish singer with forehead fair; 
He sang of love and of martial fame, 

And touched his harp with a blithesome air. 
And the savage Guthrun said, " Forsooth ! 

Love-songs are many, but brave hearts few ; 
Let him sing, if he list, this simple youth ! 

Nor harm nor good will his harping do." 

A strange light gleamed in the minstrel's eyes. 

He looked and Hstened the while he sang ; 
Then stole away in his harper's guise — 

When, sudden, the Saxon war-cry rang, 
And Danish Guthrun cried in ruth, 

" Brave hearts are many, but who may sing," 
For his hosts were slain — and the minstrel youth 

Was England's greatest and wisest king. 
85 



WILD COLUMBINE. 

THE wayside fields are all a-flower ; 
Come out, come out, O children mine ! 
Where summer hangs her rarest dower, 
On tilting stalks of columbine. 

O buttercup, thy glories wane ; 

Bend low that jaunty head of thine ; 
Too pale thy crest, too long thy reign ; 

This day we crown the columbine. 

O regal daisy, now, I ween. 

Thy heart of gold hath ceased to shine ; 
The queen is dead — long live the queen ! 

The golden-hearted columbine ! 

O meadow-lily, dusk and brown. 

Whose cup once glowed like ruby wine, 

Lay thou thy broken sceptre down 
Before the scarlet columbine. 
86 



WILD COLUMBINE. 87 

O harebells, hush your dainty notes, 

As faint ye stand in far-off line, 
Whilst martial-music gaily floats 

From trooping bands of columbine. 

Hark ! how the elf-horn echoes ring ! — 
Come out, come out, O children mine. 

And with the green-folk dance and sing. 
Where grows the glad wild columbine. 



SHEPHERD AND KING. 

/^^N grassy uplands the village stands, 
^-^ Beautiful Bethlehem of the hills ! 
And green below are the valley-lands, 

And rainbow-hued the crystal rills 
That trickle adown the mountain side, 

And, hither and yon, come bubbling up 
In coverts cool where the lambkins hide, 

And a shepherd laddie fills his cup. 



Sometimes in silence the sheep-boy sits 

And gazes off to the dark Dead Sea ; 
While a legend old, through his fancy flits, 

Of direful doom and mystery. 
But oftcner yet he turns his eyes 

To the north, where stand the mountains glad 
And quick in his heart strange longings rise. 

Wild hopes and vain, for a shepherd lad. 



SHEPHERD AND KING. 89 

For he is the least of his father's sons ; 

Seven for warriors brave were born, 
While he, the eighth, but a stripling, runs 

To tend the flocks from morn to morn. 
For him are pastoral carols sweet, 

On the heights above or the lowlands damp ; 
For them is the soldier's war-cry meet. 

The din and splendor of town and camp. 

What were his gifts that he should moan 

To walk where the chiefs of old have trod ! 
The God of his fathers chose His own — 

Happy was he, if loved of God. 
So never a touch of envy gave 

A jarring note to the sacred song ; 
And the boy who guarded the sheep grew brave ; 

And the hand that touched the harp grew strong. 

And thus when the day of feasting came, 

With ancient symbol of holy things. 
And a Prophet mighty in deed and name 

Was his father's guest from the court of kings, 
He humbly turned to his daily task 

On the slopes where the scarlet wild flowers wave ; 
For what was the lad that he should ask 

To stand with his brothers proud and brave ! 



90 



SHEPHERD AND KING. 



But lo ! with speed from the village gates, 

A messenger runs, and running cries : — 
The shepherd boy on the hillside waits 

With wonder writ in his longing eyes. 
" Thou'rt called ! " is the word ; " come down to the 
feast ! " 

But the shepherd stands as though smitten dumb ; 
" The Prophet hath said it — ' Nor sire, nor priest. 

Nor elder shall sit till the youth is come ! ' 

" In vain have thy brethren, staunch and tall. 

Passed by ; he naught of their beauty sees ; 
' Come down ! ' saith the Prophet, ' though least of all ; 

For surely the Lord hath not chosen these.' " 
So " ruddy of face " — the story says — 

" Of beautiful countenance, good too see," 
The lad was led through the chosen ways, 

To answer the prophecy — "This is he." 

And the feast went on while the fair-haired boy 

Sat at the feet of the Prophet gray ; — 
Ah ! who can tell of the fear and jov 

That burned in his heart that wondrous day. 
When the prophet rose, at the word divine. 

And over the boyish forehead poured 
Sweet oil of olives with mystic sign, 

To seal the anointed of the Lord. 




SAT AT THE FEET OF THE PROPHET GRAY. 



SHEPHERD AND KING. 93 

"Thou art," cried the Voice, "great Israel's king ; 

King from the River unto the Sea ; 
King that unto His own shall bring 

Never defeat, but victory ! 
And after victory, glorious peace ; 

While hymns of triumph thy courts shall fill ; 
And the ends of the earth shall never cease 

To sing with thee of the Holy Hill." 

So the ships of Tyre came sailing down, 

Bringing him cedar and purple dyes ; 
And he builded a city the heights to crown, 

That up from the valley of Kedron rise. 
From shores of Ophir came silver and gold, 

From lands of the Orient, many a gem, 
And the sheep-boy dwelt, as he dreamed of old, ^ 

On the hills to the north of Bethlehem. 

O sweet-voiced singer ! O warrior king ! 

Low are thy palaces laid for aye ; 
But marvel of marvels ! the lands still ring 

With chorus and anthem of thine to-day, 
And stranger and sweeter than all the rest. 

In the wonderful olden tale, I ween, 
Is that we should cherish and love the best 

The shepherd's song of the "pastures green." 




\^-1l 



HK 

'^M. 

\/^. 



't 



^• 






THE LIGHT OF MORNING WAS IN HER HAIR." 



AN EASTER LILY. 

AT dawn she came, saint-like and fair, 
In snowy gown with 'broidered band 
The light of morning in her hair, 
An Easter lily in her hand. 

And " Christ is risen " ! she simply said ; 

O, blessed words of childish faith ! 
How could we think that Christ was dead, 

Or question what the angel saith ? 

This day the Christ hath risen anew 
Within our hearts because of thee. 

Oh ! angel-child, with eyes of blue. 

That ask not where their Lord may be ; 

But follow, fearless and afar. 

Whither the living Christ hath gone : 
And they His whitest lilies are 

Who lisp His name at Easter dawn. 
97 



THE MISSION TEA-PARTY.* 

'T^HE war in the East had ended ; 

-*- Its terrors were past, they said ; 
There was peace, once more, for the living, 

And peace for the valiant dead. 

Through the splendid squares of Lucknow 
The Highlanders marched again ; 

The heroes of fortress and jungle, 
Brave Havelock's peerless men ! 

They had freed the beleaguered city, 
Fought step by step through the vale ; 

And swept from the shore of the Ganges 
Forever the Sepoy's trail. 



*Tliis incident was related to the author by Dr. William Butler, American Mis- 
sionary in India during the Sepoy Rebellion. 

The event occurred when Havelock's Brigade had returned to Lucknow, to take 
up their line of inarch for the Afghan frontier. 



THE MISSION TEA-PARTY. ic 

Ay ! open your gates, O Liicknow ! — 
But measure, ye guards, your breath, 

As ye think of those days, an hundred. 
When Havelock marched with death. 

Then welcome them back with rejoicing, 

O minaret, tower and shrine ! 
For these are the men who saved you, 

Whose glory outlasteth thine ! 

Through the streets swept the colors of England, 

Borne proudly aloft on the air ; 
While the "throne land of Rama" re-echoed 

The Christian's thanksgiving and jDrayer. 

And blithest of all were the pipers, 
Their tartan plaids streaming in pride, 

As they woke, on the banks of the Goomtee, 
The airs of the Doon and Clyde. 

Then the heart of one beautiful woman 

Was stirred by an impulse sweet, 
As she thought of the long, forced marches, 

The weary and blood-stained feet ; 



,2 THE MISSION TEA-PARTY. 

Of the pain, the hunger, the thirsting, 
The death in the jungle's gloom ; 

The rescue of women and children, 
Threatened with direful doom. 




BLITHEST OF ALL WERE THE PIPERS. 



And she said, " I will spread them a banquet, 
With a touch of the homeland cheer. 

And the welcome their mothers would give them, 
Afar in the heatherlands dear. 



THE MISSION TEA-FARTY. 105 

" Not for twice twelve months have they tasted 

A simple cupful of tea ! 
I will serve it to-day for the heroes 

Who periled their lives for me ! 



" Bid them come to the courts of the Mission ! " 

Gay awnings were hastily hung ; 
While on tripods of curious fashion, 

The teakettles merrily swung ; 



Swung and sung songs of the homeland ; 

Familiar and sweet were the tunes, 
As if winds of the loch and the mountain 

Blew soft through the Indian noons. 



She fastened the tartan of Scotland 

With the thistle-bloom over her breast ; 

And her own little winsome daughter 
In the bonny bright plaid she drest. 



At the old gray gate of the Mission, 
'Neath turret and watchtowers high, 



[06 THE MISSION TEA-PARTY. 

Where the dusk-eyed Indian Princess 
Had dreamed in the days gone by, 



This fair-faced, brave-hearted woman, 
A stranger from lands of the West, 

To the ancient palace and gardens 
Welcomed each war-worn guest. 



And with Highland bonnets uplifted. 
There under the Hindoo palm, 

The soldiers of Havelock listened 
To the Hebrew's glorious psalm : 



" Thou wentest before thy people, 
And kings of armies did flee ! " 

Then merrily under the shadows 
They drank of the fragrant tea. 



Served with the grace and the bounty 

Of royal fete and of feast, 
To the tattered and smoke-grimed heroes, 

In the halls of the storied East. 



THE MISSION TEA-PARTY. 107 

And many a battle-scarred soldier 

Let fall from a glistening eye 
Hot tears on the hand of his hostess 

For whom he had thought to die. 

And for her was the Highlander's blessing 
Breathed low in that tenderer scene 

When the pipers, proud in their places, 
Played grandly —" God save the Queen ! " 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 

T FOUND the "Shakespeare" open where 
-■■ The lovers of Verona met 
And lingered, at the hanging stair, 
In gardens of the Capulet. 

And through the doorway, where between 
The latticed walls the woodbines sway, 

I saw once more the witching scene 
From out the master's olden play. 

To reach the vine-clad portico. 

Secure the garden ladder led ; 
And on its rounds stood Romeo, 

A "Tam o' Shanter" on his head. 

" It is my love ! " I heard him say. 
And saw his dagger's flashing hilt 

(A silver fruit-knife stowed away 
Within his skirts of scarlet kilt). 
1 08 




/^ 



SAW ONCE MORE THE WITCHING SCENE. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 

" Speak, Juliet ! Oh, dear ! " (aside) — 
As tangled vines swung round his feet — 

"You'll break your bones!" the maid replied ; 
Then laughed, " How can you be so sweet ? 

And these two lovers, fond and true ? 

Ah, me ! e'en now I smile to tell ; 
One was our Bess, with eyes of blue, 

And one our neighbor's romping Nell. 



CHOOSING HIS GIFTS. 

T)RAVE Rob Roy in the evening's light, 
-*-^ Lay still and gazed across the sky 
Where flashing 'mid the hosts of night, 
Orion and his train swept by. 

"Give me no toys this Christmas Eve ! " 
He sternly said, the while he thought 

Of deeds that valorous knights achieve, 
Of victories most nobly wrought. 

" I want Orion's sword and spurs, 
His belt and that one glorious star, 

That from his shoulder never stirs 
As on he marches firm and far ! " 

And lo ! across the southern sky, 
With godlike stride Orion came ; 

The fire of ages in his eye. 
His starry girdle all aflame. 



CHOOSING HIS GIFTS. 

" O youthful hero, rise 1" he said ; 

" My sword and shield I offer you ; 
I've heard on high your martial tread, 

And watched your followers small and few. 

" Behold, beneath this blazing arch 
How many a warrior great appears ! 

They all are yours — but you must march 
With them ten thousand million years ; 

" And nightly guide the endless line, 
With sleepless eye and sword of fire ; 

For they who win the stars must shine ! 
Who walk the heavens, must never tire ! " 

Our hero gasped, " Oh ! give me, please. 
Something for boys — a stocking full ! " 

And woke to see the Pleiades 

Sink westward with the Golden Bull ; 

And great Orion overhead, 

Move on with stately step and slow ; 
While on the hearth there shone instead 

The ever blessed Christmas <2:low. 



A STUDY FROM LIFE. 

THE brown owl woke at the break of day, 
And opened his eyes in grave surprise ; 
Was it night or morning — who could say ? 

Or whether the sun or moon should rise — 
For a dense gray fog enwrapt the land, 

Above and below, to left and right ; 
No tree nor shrub on either hand, 

Not one familiar thing in sight ; 
And the brown owl laughed in his selfish glee, 
"There's nobody left in the world but me !" 

Alone he sat on a jagged stump, 

One more to his taste he could not find ; 
It was green with moss while a swaying clump 

Of graceful cat-tails waved behind. 
" Now, Madame Weasel, you'll not intrude 

While I'm at work in the chicken-yard," 
He said to himself ; " and I'll take my food 

Quite' undisturbed by Sir Reynard. 
'Twas hard to be suddenly pounced upon ; — 
Ikit what if the chickens now are gone ! " 
114 



A STUDY FROM LIFE. 115 

Should such be the case, a mouse will do ; 

It is not wise to be over nice, 
When all one's neighbors have vanished too — 

But I forgot ! there are no mice ! 
Well, never mind ! I can always sleep ;" 

I'll take for my own the black bear's den, 
In the trunk of the oak so dark and deep ; 

I've always wanted that place — and then 
Won't the bats and the squirrels envious be ? — 
But where are they — and the hollow tree ! 

Then a feeling strange crept over the owl, 

As he crouched on his stump so lone and still ; 
He'd have given the world for one faint howl, 

From out the fog-bank gray and chill. 
" 'Tis really a dreadful thing," he said, 

" To lose forever both foe and friend ; 
'Twere better to share one's daily bread, 

Than live alone till life shall end ; 
And what avails the very best tree, 
If there's nobody left on earth but me ! " 

Down his mottled breast one slow tear crept ; — 
But the sun just then through the gray mist broke, 

And a thrill of life through the forest swept. 
And the birds in a thousand nests awoke. 



1 6 A STUDY FROM LIFE. 

The sly fox laughed as he trotted by 

In search of a meal ; while far in the east, 

The curtain of fog rolled up to the sky ; 
But the owl still musing on fast and feast, 

Away to the depths of the forest flew, 

To ponder the lessons of life anew. 



THE ITALIAN SHEPHERD BOY. 

I3EYOND the mountains the sands are gold — 
■*^ Silver and gold — the old men say, 
As they tell the story the strangers told, 
Who passed o'er the hills one far-off day. 

And the clear sea gleams with its wealth of pearls. 
And the shallow shoals are emerald green ; 

And down and around the sea-gull whirls 
And dips for a star in the water's sheen. 

And the sails from a thousand isles are furled 
At the feet of the city vast and high ; 

And a yellow dome like a golden world. 
Stands out in a green and purple sky. 

Ah! who can doubt that the tale is true .-' 
Not the mountain lad with his dreamy eyes, 

As he gazes up to the hill-tops blue, 
And on where the charmed valley lies. 



iiS THE ITALIAN SHEPHERD BOY. 

Oh ! the palace walls are high and grand ! 

So the strangers said ; but they could not wait 
To point the way to that wondrous land 

Where white gods stand at the marble gate. 

But up and away, my mountain lad ! 

The path lies straight for thy youthful feet ; 
And the world hath ever a welcome glad, 

When hearts are loving and young and sweet. 

" Hoiho ! hoiho ! " — What is't that rings 

O'er the steep cliffs far from the valley lights ? 

" Hoiho ! hoiho ! " — Who is't that springs 

From his dreams on the gray Abruzzo heights .'' 

'Tis the shepherd's horn, now soft, now clear. 
As the herdsmen gather from far and wide ; 

And the listening dryads laugh to hear 
Their footstep ring on the mountain side. 

And he whose eyes with a longing glance. 
Flashed back wild hopes to the sunset light, 

Swings a scarlet scarf through the tinkling dance, 
To the witching airs of a summer's night. 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN 
AMERICA. 

' I "WAS not when the haughty Spaniards came, 

^ With blazoned banner and martial din, 
Planting the cross in the dear Christ's name, 

But leaving a trail of shame and sin ; 
'Twas not when the Pilgrim Fathers sung 

Their solemn hymns on the sombre shore — 
Ah ! never a Christmas bell they rung, 

Never a holly wreath they wore. 

It was many and many a year ere then, 

When the seas were plowed by the Vikings brave, 
When the Norse chief sailed with his fearless men. 

North and south o'er the raging wave. 
W'hen down from the realm of ice and snow, 

Thorfin the sturdy set his sail ; — 
But the world had forgotten it long ago. 

Had not the Sasras told the tale. 



119 



I20 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN AMERICA. 

"'Tis a marvelous story," Gudrida said, 

As she sat in state in her husband's hall, 
And laid her hand on the golden head 

Of a beautiful lad, blue-eyed and tall. 
" 'Tis a marvelous tale — but I see it yet, 

That dim far coast where our baby lay, 
And we said, ' In our joy shall we forget 

Our Saviour's birth on this holy day ? ' " 

At her side the stalwart Thorfin stood, 

And gazed as she spoke with a loving pride, 
On the fair face under the jeweled hood 

Of her who followed — brave-hearted bride — 
When young and comely he came to woo, 

The proudest of all the Norseland band, 
And together they sailed the trackless blue, 

In search of a wonderful, unknown land. 

Once more in the shelter of Iceland's Isle, 

Where song and story abide alway,. 
In the warmth of fortune's kindliest smile. 

They dwell ; and the chieftain answered, "Yea! 
'Tis a marvelous story ! Hist ! how we sped 

Through the gulf where the dizzying icebergs 
swim ! 
Till, one by one, like wraiths of the dead, 

They sank in the far horizon's rim. 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN AMERICA. 121 

Then we skirted along gray barren shores, 

And hill-slopes green to their very feet, 
Nor slackened the sails, nor eased the oars, 

Till the winds blew soft and warm and sweet. 
Still south and west, till our dragon prow 

Found rest in the arms of a sheltered vale ; 
I fancy I feel the soft breeze now ! 

Thou'rt right, sweet wife, a wondrous tale !" 

" Nay ! God be thanked for his gracious ways 

Now and forever," Gudrida cried ; 
" But for aye, in my heart, the day of days 

Is that which we kept at the white Yule-tide. 
The seasons had come and the seasons sped, 

With the spring-time green and the autumn flame. 
And ever the luscious fruits grew red. 

And the deer from the endless forests came. 

" And the days were a dream in that sunnier clime. 

Where short nights herald the early morn ; 
Till there in the calm of the Christmas time, 

In that nameless country our child was born. 
And we said, * In our joy shall we e'er forget 

The Christ and His love on His own birth-night t 
Ho ! bring the holly with hoar-frost wet, 

And set the torches of pine alight ! ' 



122 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN AMERICA 

" And thou didst place on the infant's breast 

The cross thy fathers from Norway bore ; 
And kindled the tapers the priest had blest, 

Last and most precious of all our store. 
That night in my dreams the Maid divine, 

Most holy of mothers, appeared to me, 
Saying, ' Gudrida, for thee and thine 

Are thy father's halls on the Northern Sea. 

" ' Not yet is this land thy people's home, 

But as thou hast honored this day my Son, 
Thou shalt tell from the North to the gates of Rome, 

Of the shores that wait for the Holy One ' ! " — 
" And thou shalt, by my sword, sweet wife and fair ! 

Thou shalt journey to Rome," the Northman said ; 
But 'twas Snorri, the lad, who led her there. 

When Thorfin the sturdy lay cold and dead. 

Oh ' 'twas hundreds and hundreds of years ago. 

That the sweet Norsewoman of Christmas sung ; 
While to-day, in their arches, to and fro, 

From east to west are the Christ-bells rung. 
And ours is the land of which she told 

To Pope and Prince in her journey long ; — 
But the world had forgotten the story old, 

Had not the Sagas kept the song 



OUT OF FASHION. 

AGAINST the cottage window pane, 
The maple branches hung ; 
And in the sunshine's briUiant glow 
The leaves of autumn swung. 

And one was young and gay and bright, 

In gold and scarlet drest ; 
And one was old, with garments sere 

Close-folded o'er her breast. 

" Oh ! tell me, granddame," cried the child, 
" If those old times were true. 

When city folk for love of us, 

Searched all the country through — 

" And bore us home to grace their walls, 

And deemed us fair to see ; 
Do you not think, O grandma dear, 

They'll come this year for me ? " 



4 OUT OF FASHION. 

"Alas ! my child," the dame replied, 

Sad in her garments brown ; 
" The times have changed ! You'll never pass 

A winter in the town, 

"Just think how autumn leaves would look, 

In these days, on the shelf. 
With Dresden ware and Haviland, 

Faience and flowered delf ! 

" You'd burn with shame and long to hide 

In russet gown with me : — 
Look, child, within the window there. 

And tell me what you see ! " 

" I see — why ! Bess and Christabel ! 

And Bess is moulding clay, 
And making something like a vase 

She saw, in town, one day. 

" And Christabel enraptured kneels 

Upon a wondrous rug, 
The while she paints some strange red flower 

Upon an earthen jug. 



OUT OF FASHION. 125 

" They talk of m't and bric-a-brac ! 

They fling me from their sight ; 
The times, indeed, have changed ! and we 

Are out of fashion quite ! " 

" 'Twas ever thus ! " the granddame sighed, 

" I know the world's odd ways ; 
May I not live, I pray, to see 

The next new fashion-craze ! " 



THE CRICKET'S STORY. 

THE high and mighty lord of Glendare, 
The owner of acres both broad and fair, 
Searched, once on a time, his vast domains. 
His deep, green forest and yellow plains. 
For some rare singer, to make complete 
The studied charms of his country-seat ; 
But found, for all his pains and labors, 
No sweeter songster than had his neighbors. 

Ah, what shall my lord of the manor do ? 
He pondered the day and the whole night through. 
He called on the gentry of hill-top and dale ; 
And at last on Madame the Nightingale, — 
Inviting, in his majestical way. 
Her pupils to sing at his grand soiree. 
That perchance among them my lord might find 
Some singer to whom his heart inclined. 
What wonder, then, when the evening came. 
And the castle gardens were all aflame 
126 



THE CRICKET'S STORY. 

With the many curious lights that hung 
O'er the ivied porches, and flared among 
The grand old trees and the banners proud, 
That many a heart beat high and loud. 
While the famous choir of Glendare Bog, 
Established and led by the Brothers Frog, 
Sat thrumming as hoarsely as they were able, 
In front of the manager's mushroom table ! 



The overture closed with a crash — then, hark ! 
Across the stage comes the sweet-voiced Lark. 
She daintily sways, with an airy grace, 
And flutters a bit of gossamer lace, 
While the leafy alcove echoes and thrills 
With her liquid runs and lingering trills. 
Miss Goldfinch came next, in her satin gown, 
And shaking her feathery flounces down. 
With much expression and feeling sung 
Some " Oh's " and " Ah's " in a foreign tongue ; 
While to give the affair a classic tone. 
Miss Katydid rendered a song of her own, 
In which each line closed, as it had begun, 
With some wonderful deed which she had done. 
Then the Misses Sparrow, so prim and set. 
Twittered and chirped through a long duet ; 



•27 



128 THE CRICKET'S STORY. 

And poor little Wren, who tried with a will, 

But who couldn't tell " Heber " from " Ortonville,' 

Unconscious of sarcasm piped away. 

And courtesied low o'er a huge bouquet 

Of crimson clover-heads, culled by the dozen, 

By some brown-coated, plebeian cousin. 

But you should have heard the red Robin sing 
His English ballad, " Come, beautiful Spring ! " 
And Master Owlet's melodious tune, 
" O, meet me under the silvery moon ! " 
Then, as flighty Miss Humming-bird didn't care 
To sing for the high and mighty Glendare, 
The close of the evening's performance fell 
To the fair young Nightingale, Mademoiselle. 
Ah ! the wealth of each wonderful note 
That came from the depths of her tiny throat ! 
She carolled, she trilled, and she held her breath, 
Till she seemed to hang at the point of death ; 
She ran the chromatics through every key. 
And ended triumphant on upper C ; 
Airing the graces her mother had taught her. 
In a manner quite worthy of Madame's daughter. 

But his lordship glared down the leafy aisle 
With never so much as a nod or smile, 



THE CRICKET'S STORY. 



129 



Till, out in the shade of a blackberry thicket, 
He all of a sudden spied little Miss Cricket ; 
And, roused from his gloom, like an angry bat, 
He sternly demanded, " Who is that ? " 
" Miss Cricket, my lord, may it please you so, 
A charity scholar — ahem ! — you know — 




MISS CRICKET MODESTLY SANG. 



Quite worthy, of course, but we couldn't bring" 
Thundered His Mightiness, " Let her sing ! " 
The Nightingale opened her little eyes 
Extremely wide in her blank surprise ; 
But catching a glimpse of his lordship's rage, 
Led little Miss Cricket upon the stage. 



I30 THE CRICKET'S STORY. 

Where she modestly sang, in her simple measures, 
Of "Home, sweet Home," and its humble pleasures. 
And the lord of Glendare cried out in his glee, 
" This little ?vliss Cricket shall sing for me ! " 

Of course, of comment there was no need ; 

But the world said, " Really ! " and, " Ah, indeed ! " 

Yet, notwithstanding, we find it true, 

As his lordship does will the neighbors do ; 

So this is the way, as the legends tell, 

In the very beginning it befell 

That the Crickets came, in the evening's gloam. 

To sing at our hearths of " Home, sweet Home." 



THE DUMB PRINCE. 

AGED Waermund soon will die ; 
Woe to us ! " the people said ; 
With his fathers he must lie ; 

Who shall reign when he is dead ? 
Not his son, for he is dumb ; 
Maledictions on his head ! 

King W^rmund, they loved him well, 
Those old Angles fierce and bold, 

Till this horror o'er them fell — 
" Aged Wsermund's days are told ! 

And shall dumb prince ever come 
His proud name and realm to hold ? " 

For alas ! the tale was true 

Which throughout the land was heard 
Tall the youth, with eyes of blue, 

Brave, but ne'er a single word 
Had the young prince uttered since 

Breath his baby lips had stirred. 
131 



132 THE DUMB PRINCE. 

Up rose Rigan then, his heart 

Filled with craft and cunning things ; 

"Give to me," he cried, "the part 
Forfeited by speechless kings ! 

By my head, I'll reign instead 

Of this young hawk stripped of wings ! 

Treacherous Rigan swung his cup 
High above his oaken board ; 

Each retainer started up 

With his hand upon his sword. 

" Rigan fair shall be the heir ! " 
Rose the cry of churl and lord. 

In his palace Wasrmund sat 

Knowing life was on the wane; 

But his heart was staunch as that 
Of his stoutest earl or thane. 

" Die must I ? I will not die 

Till ye swear my son shall reign ! " 

Close his courtiers gathered round, 

Sorely troubled every one ; 
To their king in fealty bound, 

Should they set aside his son } 
"Yet," cried they, in wild dismay, 

"What hath dumb prince ever done.?" 



THE DUMB PRINCE. 133 

" Can he lead us forth to smite 

Rigan's host that dravveth nigh ? 
Give the summons for the fight ? 

Shout the ancient battle-cry ? 
Or retain the power to reign, 

Though the hosts of Rigan fly ? " 

Brave of heart, but mute of tongue, 
Stood the prince with flashing eye ; 

All his soul with torture wrung, 
As the tumult waxed high ; 

For he heard each bitter word. 
Though he could not make reply. 

«' Am I to be held unfit," 

Thought he, " for my father's throne ? 
Shall this Rigan's children sit 

In the halls that are my own ? 
Who is he that he should be 

Crowned with what is mine alone ? " 

Midst the clamor and the din. 

Speechless still, as stone, stood he ; 

Till the pent-up strife within. 
Burst in utter agony. 

One wild cry arose on high. 

And the prince's tongue was free ! 



134 THE DUMB PRINCE. 

Warriors, thrilled with wonder, bowed ; 

Strong men pallid grew and weak ; 
Speechless now the awe-struck crowd, 

For they heard the dumb man speak ; 
And the tears unshed for years 

Trickled down the old King's cheek. 

" God has wrought a wonder here," 
Said the courtiers, under breath ; 

" We will follow without fear 
Brave Prince Offa unto death ! " 

And in haste they girt his waist 
As for him who conquereth. 

With this sign of knighthood sealed — 
Honor no man need despise — 

Thus the true Prince stood revealed, 
Clarion-tongued, before their eyes. 

" Follow me," he cried, ''and see 
How the traitor Rigan dies ! " 

But false Rigan w'aited not. 

When he heard the war-cry sound ; 

Riverward, headlong and hot. 

Plunged his steed ; and both were drowned. 

There, they say, the waves to-day 
Swirl with mockinc: laudi around. 



THE DUMB PRINCE. 13 5 

Many years Prince Offa reigned 
O'er his Anglian earis and lords 

In the right of Kingship gained 
With this sudden gift of words ; 

Thus the page of that dim age, 
Quaintly writ, the tale records. 



THE DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC. 

/^^F all the grand old figures 
^-^ Engraven in form sublime, 
Upon history's pictured pages, 

And hallowed by touch of time, 
That of a mail-clad Spaniard 

From childhood hath haunted me ; — 
He stands on a mountain summit ; 

He crieth, " The sea ! the sea ! " 



Alone with heaven and the grandeur 

That below and beyond him rolled 
The blue of the great Pacific, 

The shining shores of gold ; 
The sea unknown, and the countries 

No Christian foot hath trod ; 
He, first to behold their splendor, 

He, first to give thanks to God ! 
136 



THE DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC. 137 

Oh ! men may climb to the mountains, 

But never a day like this ; 
And ships may sail to the westward, 

Or north, or south, nor kiss 
The waves of so mighty an ocean 

Wherever their flags be furled ; 
No, never in after ages ! 

Never in all the world ! 

Brave Nunez de Balboa ! 

What wonder thy pulses thrill. 
Or the myriad hearts of the nation 

Should echo their throbbing still ! 
Majestic and lone thou standest 

With the vision vouchsafed to thee ; 
In the joy and the rapture forever 

Exclaiming— " The sea ! the sea ! " 



SONG OF THE HAMMOCK. 

"|\ /TERRILY, cheerily, all the day swinging, 
^^ ^ I am the hammock gay, this is my song: — 
Ho ! for the life that the springtime is bringing ! 
Hey ! for the joys that to childhood belong! 

Sweet in the spring are the apple-trees bloomy ! 

Up to their white laden branches I go, 
Bearing the children in arms that are roomy, 

Bringing back showers of blossoming snow. 

Touch us but lightly now ! Tired with pleasure, 
Nestle the golden heads close to my breast ; 

Hither and yon ; with a low droning measure, 
While on my bosom the little ones rest. 

Lazily, drowsily, dreamily swaying, 

Now do the summer airs beckon to me ; 

" Follow oh, follow ! " they seem to be saying, 
" We wait by the mountains, the lakes and the sea. 
>38 



SONG OF THE HAMMOCK. 139 

Hang me awhile in green shady places, 
Sheltered by lattice and lit by the rose ; 

Broad, cool verandas and vine-covered spaces 
Call with a promise of quiet repose. 

Here come the youthful folk, summer-tryst keeping. 
Friends of a morning passing too soon ; 

Here is the gray-bearded grandsire sleeping 
Through the slow-pulsating hours of noon. 

And here in the shadow, some sweet little maiden 
Dreameth the long witching twilight away ; 

Perchance, of the lover still roaming in Aiden, 
The Prince who shall come in a year and a day. 

Ah, then ! weave me stoutly of cordage unbroken, 
Or in the bright meshes of gay silken thread, 

Or yet if it please thee — and soft be it spoken — 
Of clothes-line and barrel-staves found in the shed ! 

It matters not what, since my slumberous motion 
Holds the land in a spell from the east to the west. 

I swing by the valley, the hillside, the ocean. 
Rocked by the magical Spirit of Rest. 



I40 SONG OF THE HAMMOCK. 

So when the troops of winter come clanging, 

When the chill rains fall and gloomy winds blow, 

Leave me not sadly, by tattered ropes hanging, 
Lone and forlorn to drift in the snow. 

But where the firelight shineth, revealing 
Childlife and homelife and comforts untold, 

Swing me, I pray thee, with rings from the ceiling. 
Deck me with ribbons of garnet and gold. 

Thus shall the visions of summer time stir thee, 
Murmur of forest and glimmer of streams. 

While on my cushions of balm from the fir-tree. 
Soft be thy slumbers and happy thy dreams ! 



A CHRISTMAS WAIF. 

THE earth was white with its Christmas snows 
Above, the stars hung lone and clear : 
From the castle-hearth the blue smoke rose, 
With little of Christmas cheer. 

For the lord of the land long months ago, 

Had pledged his faith to the Knightly Cause ; 

And sadly had passed the days, and slow. 
Since he rode to the Holy Wars. 

My lady knelt in her chamber white, 

And bowed her head on the Book and prayed ; 

While tearful-eyed, in the dim fire-light, 
Close-nestled a little maid. 

" Ho ! and Oho ! " — A ringing call 

Which wakes the warden within the gate ; 

Child Elsie runs to the windows tall : — 
" 'Tis the Christmas waifs who wait ! " 
141 



142 A CHRISTMAS WAIF. 

A sound of steps on the oaken floor, 
The torches' flare — and bearded gray, 

The henchman swung the carven door — 
" Sweet lady, of thee I pray 

A boon, for the minstrel poor who sings 
For gift of alms from place to place ; 

But who craves to-night for the song he brings, 
The sight of my lady's face." 

" A worthless boon ! For the dear Christ's sake 
To him give place where the Yule-log burns ; 

But on hearth of my own no song shall wake 
Till the lord of the land returns ! " 



The old man bowed : " Ha ! back, you slave ! " 
For close at his side the minstrel stands ; 

The face of the lady wan and gra^e 
Is hidden within her hands. 

But sweet Child Elsie, with lingering eyes 
Still bright through tears of sorrow and loss, 

'Neath the tattered cloak of the stranger spies 
The gleam of the scarlet cross. 



A CHRISTMAS WAIF. 

No minstrel he though gaunt and gray ; 

The master ; and not the servant's guest ; 
" And my own papa, on this blessed day ! " 

Cried the child upon his breast. 

A wild shout burst through the castle's gloom : 
But the mother sat like the speechless dead ; 

Till, kneeling low, in the firelit room, 
" My lady ! " the Wanderer said. 

Oh ! the Christ-night stars are chill and lone ; 

But the castle-lights stream far and near ; 
While the Knight of the Red Cross clasps his own 

In the warmth of the Christmas cheer. 



■43 



A ROMANCE FROM THE CLASSICS. 

SHE was a little old woman, 
Her garments were straight and long ; 
He was a soldier of Chiron's school, 
Handsome and young and strong. 

They stood by the famed Anaurus, 
Deep swollen the stream and wide ; 

" Oh ! how shall I reach the farthermost bank ? "' 
The little old woman cried. 

" I'll shoulder your bones, good mother ! " 

(All spoken in purest Greek), 
His locks were long and she clung to them 

As he waded across the creek. 

But alack ! one loosened sandal 

Stuck fast on the muddy shore ; 
Just imagine his wrath as he limped along, 

With the comical load he bore ! 
144 




• THEY STOOD BY THE FAMED ANAURL'S." 



A ROMANCE FROM THE CLASSICS. 147 

When lo ! a transformation, 

Right under the hero's eyes ; 
And the woman all withered and old and lean 

Stepped out of her thin disguise. 

And Juno, white-armed and queenly, 

The Thunderer's peerless wife. 
To Jason, her thanks and a blessing gave 

Which followed him all his life. 



Be gentle in heart like Jason, 

And willing and prompt to do, 
For we never can tell when our turn may come 

For a goddess — to lose a shoe. 



ROB ROY'S DREAM. 

'nr^HE ox-eyed daisies waved in the grass, 

■*- The tall grass rippled with every breeze, 
And stretched away where the shadows pass 

To and fro 'neath the dark old trees, 
Envvreathing in strange, fantastic lines, 

The shapes of the sturdy oaks that grew 
Here and there, with the lofty pines, — 

Which were the older, no one knew. 



And Rob Roy dreamily closed his book, 

Still holding a finger the lids between. 
As he lay in his cool, sequestered nook. 

And gazed below to the deep ravine, — 
Where the waves of the noisy Cascade Brook, 

Flecked with many a shimmering speck. 
Their dancing, gurgling pathway took 

Down to the beautiful Kennebec. 
1 48 



ROB ROY'S DREAM. 149 

The river the red men rightly name, 

" A river, roUing and deep and bkie ; " 
And Rob Roy thought " Is it still the same ? 

Can the tale this old book tells be true ? 
Did these aged trees in this very glen, 

Witness the hunger, the thirst, the pain, 
When Arnold marched with a thousand men 

Through the tangled wilderness of Maine ? 

" Did the river laugh in the self-same way ? 

Was it just one hundred years ago ? 
Were the Indian boys all out that day, 

And where was I — I should like to know ! " — 
And he ponders the story over again. 

While shadows across his eyelids creep, — 
" When Arnold marched with a thousand men "' — 

But the little lad was sound asleep. 

And he dreamed, as he lay beneath the pine, 

That down from the top of the tallest tree, 
There fluttered, with many a mystic sign, 

A crow as black as a crow could be ; 
But who seemed infirm and old and lean. 

As he clung with his stiff, rheumatic claw, 
To a shattered stump moss-grown and green, 

And cleared his throat with a husky " Caw ! " 



150 ROB ROY'S DREAM. 

Then a sudden flapping of wings was heard, 

And around as far as the eye could reach, 
The tremulous summer air was stirred 

With dark forms, crying, "A speech ! a speech ! 
When slowly the aged bird arose, 

And said as he wiped away a tear, 
" It is but fitting, my fellow-crows. 

That we on this sad, Centennial year — 

" Lest the giddy youth for aye shall cease 

To think with pride of the ancient days. 
When our fathers held this land in peace. 

And life went on in its good old ways, — 
Should meet to talk of the happy past 

Ere yet our homes were torn awreck. 
Ere Arnold's band like a fateful blast. 

Swept up the beautiful Kennebec. 

" 'Twas in seventeen hundred and seventy-five, 

I well remember the day, the year ; 
But hardly a crow is now alive 

Who watched with me from the pine-top here. 
To see the troops as they straggled by, 

(Twas here their balls just grazed my neck) 
Caw ! caw ! I was then too young to die ! 

I saw them fall before Quebec. 



ROB ROY'S DREAM. 15 

," The brook still struggles to meet the sea, 

But the sordid mill its current clogs ; 
And the rolling river of old so free, 

Is choked by its countless drifting logs. 
Where once the song-bird cheered our coasts, 

We list to the iron monster's screech ; 
And an endless line of barren posts 

Has taken the place of spruce and beech. 

« Don't talk to me of the fruitful soil ! 

Don't talk to me of the waving corn ! 
It is little they leave for us to spoil, 

In the very haunts where our sires were born. 
We plead for our ancient rights in vain ! 

There is no place for our feet to rest ! 
The century's voice to us is plain ; 

It says : ' Go West ! young crows, go West ! 

And Rob Roy starting up from his sleep, 

At the dusky edge of the woodland saw 
A flock of birds in the circle sweep. 

But all he heard was their distant " Caw ! " 
Still to the lad it is very clear 

That he could tell, if he only chose. 
How the crows kept their Centennial year. 

And perhaps he really could — who knows .? 



MOLLY ADAMS' LEGACY. 



A /TOLLY ADAMS ?— Well, let me see! 
^ Your great -great-grandma, dear, was she. 



In the bloom of youth, when life was new. 
With her lover-husband staunch and true. 

She came from the town on Boston Bay, 
To dwell in the wilds of Maine, they say. 

And the bit of lace that lightly stirs 
To-day, in your mother's hand, was hers ; 

The bit of lace and the broidered shawl — 
These the legacy — these are all ! 

All ? but treasures there were, and rare, 
Kept and cherished with tender care, 

In the curious box with wood inlaid ; — 
And these were the songs for her children made, 
152 



MOLLY ADAMS' LEGACY. 153 

I have often heard my grandma tell 

Of the little group that, with mystic spell, 

Enraptured sat at their mother's knee. 
Bound by her sweet-voiced witchery. 

I see them still while the night-winds moan 
Without, in the forest vast and lone ; 

I watch the bounteous fire-light glare 
Over the children's golden hair. 

As the youthful mother, in ruff and cap, 
Tells them of " Little Maid Prim's mishap ; " 

And sings with a sweet, unconscious calm, 
Something besides the loved Bay Psalm. 

From the precious box all the stories came, 
'Neath the magical lid that bore her name — 

" Molly Adams" — and story and song 

To her children's children should all belong. 

But when she had old and gray-haired grown, 
p:re sons and daughters had claimed their own, 



^54 



MOLLY ADAMS' LEGACY. 



A dearer wealtli than their lives had earned — 
One terrible day was the homestead burned ! 

Sorry were they for the dwelling old ; 
But houses and lands are bought and sold ! 

Sorry enough for the thin old spoons, 
Dented and battered with baby tunes ; 

For the tiny cups on the dresser kept ; 

And the bowl where the great blue dragon slept ! 

Sorry for hand-wrought mantle and hem ; 
But the tears we shed are not for them ! 

Sweet Molly Adams ! we weep to-day, 
For the precious box that in ashes lay. 

For the beautiful songs we never shall know, 
Writ in the days of the long ago ; 

For witching legend and story told 
Ere the loving lips were forever cold. 

But I sometimes think, O, boy of mine. 
That the lost inheritance yet is thine ; 



MOLLY ADAMS' LEGACY. 15: 

That a drop of blood in your hand so brown, 
From this fair ancestress old came down ; 

And this is the reason you love to write 
Your stories yourself, this wintry night ; 

That you sing to the fire your rhymes and runes. 
With their queer conceits and jingling tunes 

That perchance, O lad of the light-brown locks, 
Your songs all come from the olden box. 



THE RETURN OF THE NORTHMEN 

\Fragme?it from the History of the Ancient Franks?^ 

A. D. 280. 

"OEFORE them rolled the strange Black Sea ; 
-"-^ Beyond the broad sea-foam 
The ocean's ^read immensity ; 
Beyond the ocean — home ! 

How came they here in this far clime, 

These sons of liberty, 
Who from the unremembered time. 

Had boasted they were free ? 

Upon the North Sea's stormy shore 

Their wind-rocked cradles swung ; 
Their veins the blood of Vikings bore. 

Their songs the Sagas sung. 
156 



THE RETURN OF THE NORTHMEN. 157 

Untamed by Rome's triumphant hosts 
They scorned each proud command 

Till, severed from their native coasts, 
A broken exiled band 

Borne at the point of lance and spear, 

Through leagues of solitude, 
They lay before their captors here, 

Vanquished, but unsubdued. 

" Have sons of Northmen learned to yield ? " 

The chieftain waits reply ; — 
A runic legend on his shield, 

Defiance in his eye. 

" Awaken, then, if ye be men, 

If ye be Franks and free ; " 
He sternly cries : "awake, as when 

Men scoffed at tyranny ! 

" Have ye forgot that ye were braves 

Beloved by Wodan — God t 
Have ye forgot your fathers' graves 

Beyond the Rhine-washed sod ? 



158 THE RETURN OF THE NORTHAIEN, 

• 
" P'orgot the heerbann's ringing call, 

When from the northern seas 
Ye swept upon the towns of Gaul 

And crossed the Pyrenees ? 

" Perchance ye love the Southland lights, 

The warm and fruitful year. 
Nor languish for the wooded heights, 

The urock and the deer ! 

" Perchance the strong arm nerveless grows, 

And heavy seems the lance ! 
Ye shiver when the north wind blows. 

Ye smile when sunbeams dance ! 

" I am a chieftain and a Frank ! 

I scorn the sunlit skies ! 
I glory in my forests dank, 

Where storm-swept mountains rise ! 

" Shall I who taught my infant sons 

To pierce the wild beast's lair, 
Sit down where limpid water runs. 

And sun my yellow hair ? 




AWAKEN THEN', IF YE BE MEN. 



THE RETURN OE THE NORTHMEN. i6j 

" Shall I, who with my daughter's hand 

Gave liberty's fair dower, 
Crouch like a slave, in this far land. 

Beneath the despot's power ? 

" What, clamor ye for moor and fen ? 

Dare ye the tyrant's frown ? 
Awaken then, if ye be men. 

The full moon looketh down — 

" The month's full moon whose face shall be, 

As in the ancient tale, 
Our own triumphant augury ! 

Seize ye the ships — and sail ! " 

One wild assault ! and thus they sailed ; 

Hearts that could not forget ; 
Hearts that beneath no terror quailed ; 

Hearts that were homeward set. 

On through the fearful, unknown waves 
Where grim, masked danger smiles ; 

On where the Inter-Ocean laves 
Its countless sunny isles : 



1 62 THE RETURN OF THE NORTHMEN. 

On past the dread Sicilian shores, 
And through the gates of Spain : — 

What matter now the blood-dipped oars 
Which tracked that southern main ! 

What matter now the hot pursuit, 

The ocean's yawning grave ? 
Life's uncomplaining lips are mute ! 

The dead, their birthright save ! 

On, by unerring instinct led, 

Swift, passionate and grand, 
They northward still and northward sped ; 

TJicy gained the FatJierlaud ! 

Oh ! Love of Home ! who clings to thee 

Drifts not astray nor far ! 
Be thou, for aye, upon Life's sea 

The children's guiding star ! 



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